There was always something magical about Къщата с часовника (Kushtata s chasovnika, literally, "The House with the Clock"), something that, while walking past, exuded a mix of old-world class and modern affluence.

The garden out front, peacefully distanced from the trafficked streets, would offer up murmurs of conversation, a laugh and perhaps a foreign accent, through the old trees shading the tables, against the backdrop of a late 19th century private residence; the spacious interior, calmly decorated and with select antiques, was reserved for cooler weather, and brought with it a sense of ‘oh, you actually went inside’, as in, ‘you’ve made it, my man’, as in, ‘what’s next, a place in the Cabinet?’

Or maybe it was not all that special, but that is the sense that went with it, there, dining among ministers and foreigners, in one of the longer-standing restaurants in Sofia (it opened in about 1998, following restoration in 1997 as one of the first Beautiful Bulgaria/Beautiful Sofia projects), where a dress code was not stated, but no one would dare turn up in jeans and trainers.

There is something regrettable, perhaps, about in fact patronising such establishments: the sense of idealised wonder is gone, and it becomes, alack, just another restaurant.
But do go, the food is worth it.

Both occasions that I have visited, it has taken a while (too much of a while) for the waiter to bring the menus, but after that, service is consistent, and staff are fluent in English. (The menu, too, is in near-perfect English – which should only be expected for the level of the restaurant.)

The food, presented like sculptures on white china, is international-contemporary, with throwbacks to Bulgarian national cuisine. For example, there is the appetiser of "proto-Bulgarian" stew of escargot, sea scallop and prawn, or the main course of three "golden" kyufte (large meatballs), that come in a rectangular dish, lined up on top of their parmesan risotto, served with bean chips; interpretations on banitsa pastry also figure into the various listings.

While the take on shopska salad, delicately presented and including Serrano ham, was of a decent size, portions tend to be on the small side: that proto-Bulgarian mollusc dish was one in-shell snail (served with appropriate fork), one prawn and one scallop in a rosette formation on top of a cream-tomato bisque of sorts. Tasty like nothing else, but three bites later, and you’re wondering where the rest of it is.

The gazpacho was served in the same type of dish, which resembles an upside-down summer hat, though the soup spoon was almost too large to fit into the bowl part. The soup itself was a mild, thin purée of fresh tomatoes, accompanied by a crisp of baguette decorated like the Bulgarian flag: chopped egg white, parsley and red sweet pepper. Cute.

I happen to love raw meat, and recently ordered the veal tartare appetiser, which comes with bruschetta and fresh herbs lasagna with ricotta cheese. Fabulous presentation: the slightly spicy, lightly seasoned block of minced beef recalled a bar of gold (shape-wise), and was topped with minced red onion and capers; egg yolk in a Chinese soup spoon came on the side.

A delicious basil-parmesan pesto outlined the plate, yet it was the lasagna (three circles of jellied herb-infused gelatin, interspersed with seasoned creamy whipped ricotta) that tempted me to consider asking if it were possible to order just that another time. On the other hand, the blah bruschetti resembled slabs of French toast, but fried in olive oil instead of eggy.

That has been a problem here, the bread. First, because, at such a nice restaurant, the bread is sub-par: bland and cheap-tasting, like something picked up at Metro. There are good local bakeries (Sluntse-Luna, for example), so there is no excuse. The second thing is that a guest is charged (3.50 leva) for this bread and water (mmm, jail fare) and that without being alerted to the fact until receiving the bill. One would think that for a place of this level, there would not even have to be a question of good bread, or free water.

Which brings up... the management. Clock House had curiously shut its doors in September 2008; come mid-autumn, it opened again, with the country’s big-name chef André Tokev having taken over – both the kitchen and the venue as a whole. It is still Tokev’s joint, but only theoretically: he has since moved from the kitchen to the role of consultant, a waiter told me in early July 2009. Complaints and praise can now be directed to head chef Iliyan Alexandrov, a former Hilton colleague of Tokev’s.

Dessert is recommended, if only because it goes beyond the typical crème caramel and freezer-burnt ice cream. Fun because it gives a variety is the chocolate dish, which comprises four bite-sized interpretations (including home-made ice cream, and something like chocolate french toast) using the cacao bean as the source. Nice and sweet and gooey. It could have even been pretty, like the other dishes here, but it was hard to see because we were outside and it was dark.

In general, main dishes (fish, pork, beef, chicken) range from 15 leva to about 40 leva; appetisers and salads and soups go from seven leva to 20 leva. Be prepared to order two courses, or you’ll leave hungry. The wine list is international, and reasonably priced considering the establishment.
Though not easy on the pocketbook, The House with the Clock is a welcome change from everyday fare and everyday places, and the presentation of the food itself is a delight to the eye.


Info

Address: 15 Moskovska Str, Sofia

Tel: 02/ 932 75 95

Open: Mon-Sat, noon-midnight

Credit cards: yes